


Cinderella, Charming

by Suchthingbutnever



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella - Freeform, Fairy Tales, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchthingbutnever/pseuds/Suchthingbutnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella!AU: "Indeed, in the little town that lay just an hour’s walk away, Zayn, son of merchant Malik, bless his soul in heaven, was known as beautiful." (Ziam)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderella, Charming

A ray of sunshine peeked through the curtains shyly, lightning up the dusty little chamber, throwing a soft glow over rumpled sheets, old, torn posters of the Back-alley boys and a plus sized jar of the cheapest hair gel the vendor at the Sunday market had in store.

 

The early morning had broken yet again, and the young man, quite accustomed to his crime of a daily schedule by now, groaned a few obscenities before pushing the pillow from his face. Indeed, in the little town that lay just an hour’s walk away, Zayn, son of merchant Malik, bless his soul in heaven, was known as beautiful.

Courageous young men had dared to compare him to a rose, dotted with crystal clear dew, fragile and translucent in the beatific sun. Zayn liked to tell them that if he was a rose, it was a black one for sure, with disproportionately large thorns.

 

“C’mon then, get up, buggers.” Zayn shook out his hair black as coal and rubbed a hand over his elegant slope of a nose. The little animals nestled comfortably in the niches of his yet warm bed tumbled out, kittens mewling, little ducklings rescued from the pond lining up, colorful birds chirping a joyful morning-tune. “Yeah, we’re wearing the same shirt as yesterday. Pass me the comb? Ta.”

 

Besides his ineffable beauty, Zayn was also known to be oh so very unfortunate. His mother passed away in childbirth, having only named him. Good-for-nothing villagers liked to say that the tears of joy and pain she cried at death were the secret to the glow of Zayn’s skin. His father, God rest his soul, caught up with his business and occasional grief, remarried. Villagers commented that he had whacked his head once too often falling asleep at the table counting his gold.

Louise was a fine woman, able-bodied and straight-forward in a way that was rare amongst the best of the wives. Merchant Malik, rest his poor soul, took in not just her but also her two sons.

 

Harry was notably dazzling, sleeping with all of the villages young maidens and impregnating approximately half of them. He had his way with people, even older, virtuous ladies of standing couldn’t withstand the power of Harry’s loin.

His younger brother Niall however had other priorities – indulging in the finest of culinary specialties the kingdom had to offer. He had no interest in crafting them himself, but eat he could. Villagers rumored that he once ate an entire roast pig on his own.

It had been one of farmer Paul’s breed, and those were known to be more magnificent than any other swine in the kingdom. Hence the fascination.

 

Both Harry and Niall weren’t particularly fond of Zayn.

 

Perhaps that was an understatement. Harry felt his own popularity among the fairer sex could be threatened by Zayn’s long batting eye-lashes, and Niall, well, he couldn’t have cared less if Zayn danced naked with the king’s crown on. Until the day Zayn tried to befriend the young cook they’d hired, that is.

Now they were both intend on making poor, misfortunate Zayn’ life living hell.

 

The maltreatment included: making fun of the one shirt he owned, fussing up his hair and making him scrub the kitchen boards. For some extra work load, they would dump all the diamonds their mother dearest Louise owned into fake jewelry cases and making him pick out the real ones.

Louise had lost quite a few of her diamonds ever since they came up with that one.

 

Gossiping villagers liked to say that the one shirt clung so tight against Zayn’s torso, lakes would dry, trees tip side-ways when he passed. Mussing up his hair only made him stylish, even more fashionable than the lords and ladies that roamed the kingdoms high-streets and rubbed themselves in nightingale droppings to look fabulous.

 

And well, the ducklings and sparrows and baby-rabbits did the board scrubbing.

 

But if Harry and Niall embodied lust and gluttony, then Louise was pure evil. Even if that wasn’t one of the seven deadly sins a talented painter once put on the inner walls of their beloved church, complete with vibrant colors to demonstrate the utter pain and despair these sinful people were in.

Rumors said village boys liked to gang-up and stare at the fresco while simultaneously fondling parts of themselves that are very much unmentionable.

 

Anyway, back to the evil.

 

Louise had once been a very, very, very beautiful woman, as she liked to tell anyone who stopped long enough to let her finish the sentence. Her first husband, whom she had Harry with, died of a mysterious flu in the middle of August, but honestly, anything could happen in the middle ages. Her second husband, father of Niall and kingdom-renowned chef, died of food poisoning. The village nearby soon drowned three women to get the witch who had taken their pride and joy and source of pork-chops. Meanwhile Louise happily married Merchant Malik, God rest his soul.

 

“Zayn! You insolent child! How dare you put milk in my cup.”

 

Zayn batted his long lashes while quickly tipping the cup into Mr. Snuffles pot. The fat, grey cat hissed in anger before moving slowly to sip at the white liquid. Louise was staring at him in anger, still wearing what had once been a fitting bodice, but now barely held her saggy breasts upright. Seeing such undeniable beauty made her mad as farmer Paul’s best cow. “Sorry, mother.”

 

“You go scrub the kitchen boards, go ahead now! And don’t you dare stop until the floor needs replacing.”

 

Zayn sighed while tugging his one shirt into place again, quietly whistling for his adorable little animal slaves. “Yeah, little fuckers, go ahead, more floors that need scrubbing and all that.” 

The mouse family jumped enthusiastically at that and rushed along with all the other little pitter-pattering feet downstairs. Zayn took the chance to smoke one of his precious pharmacy-made pipes out by the barn, where no one would notice because Harry was currently pounding farmer Paul’s young wife into the hay-stack.

Rumors in the village were that the pharmacy imported their dried-plants Zayn was so keen upon from a far-away land, where milk and honey flew freely and sweet singing voices were heard at all hours.

 

Zayn never doubted that such a places existed. The good Lord had not made the earth on which the walked into such a boring place for nothing. Honey and milk, ha.

 

He stopped short in his thoughts when a golden carriage appeared at the end of the long, winding road, decked out in rubies and sapphires, sporting pictures of the royal families smiling to their peasants. The King, old and wise, his wife, a foxy lady who had a special liking for chiseled guards, so the rumors went, their two mediocre daughters who had married early and wealthy, and last but not least, the heir to the throne, sporting a warm and goofy smile.

 

Zayn had always despised the way the royals had presented themselves, advertisement on every other tree in the woods. But he once again had to ask himself why the royal illustrator hadn’t give the heir some more dignity and manliness, instead of dimples, that were quite delightful alright, but nonetheless unfitting.

 

“His royal most dignified highness sends his trusty and forever-loyal servant to bring forth the invitation to the annual ball.” A four-foot tall little man jumped out of the golden carriage and announced in a voice so booming one might expect sorcery to be involved: “We do invite the three young gentlemen of the house for an incredible mating expe- uh, for a joyful night.”

Within a second, Harry was out of the barn, pulling up his trousers and snatching the envelope from the miniature man’s hand. “I’ll take that, thanks a ton.”

 

“Let me see!” Niall, suckling on a chicken bone, had sidled up and read over Harry’s shoulder. “Bloody hell, the prince is choosin’ his bride an’ all.”

“Once he gets balls-deep inside this arse.” Harry patted himself on the shoulder and beamed a sleazy, charming smile. “I’ll talk to mother over new bling.”

“Oi! Me too!”

 

“Me three!” Zayn said, but his voice was drowned out by the impatient moans that came from the barn. Farmer Paul’s wife was moaning for wicked, wicked Harry to start being sinful for her bosom again.

He hung his head and smoked the oriental pipe until the taste was all but gone, and wailed inside his beatifically beautiful little head, because he really wanted some bling, too, and a new shirt would be nice for a change.

 

Plus, the stupid heir had really nice dimples.

 

But of course everyone just broke out into evil laughter when he mentioned it while serving them roast beef for dinner, cooked by the genius little sparrows and rabbits and mice.

 

Meanwhile, a few hours away from Zayn’s dread and hopelessness, the pink castle was bustling with life. Three entire villages had been recruited to clean and decorate the entire interior, and the pay was good, too – a chicken and all the eggs it could lay. A real asset if traveling far.

 

The king, stroking his white beard and trying to appeal wise and solemn, spoke to his only son and heir on a white marble balcony. “Liam, I must warn you, my son. Treacherous women will try to convince you of their beauty, try to touch you or attach their mouth to your – “

“I understand, father.” Liam had turned beet-red in his immaculate uniform he wore at all times of the day. “I, uh. I do.”

“You must choose wisely. Test their fertility, for it is of major importance that you, too, have an heir to the throne.”

“I. Uh, yeah. Sure, father.”

“I shall command the guards to filter out the disgusting ones at the gate.”

“Thank you, father.”

 

The night was warm and star-lit, almost like a fairy tale sky, sparkling and twinkling to all the residents of the kingdom. The king and his blushing heir. Farmer Paul and his wife. Harry and farmer Paul’s eldest daughter. Niall and the chicken bone. Louise and her more-or-less fake diamonds.

 

And last but not least, Zayn, who was sulking by the window, profile so sharp and gorgeous the stars shone a tad harder for him. In that very moment, he wished for a chance to join in on the festivities. And a new shirt.

 

 

The days before the ball passed in a blur of heavy golden necklaces and fresh-to-death kicks in all available colors. Niall ate a little more just to define his abs, while Harry successfully impregnated farmer Paul’s eldest daughter to boost his confidence.

Louise had daily visions of herself moving into the palace as the mother-in-law, spoiled silly by chiseled guards and wearing all the gold and silver the little kingdom had to offer.

 

So that was where the affinity for bling in both her sons came from.

 

Zayn made his cute animal friends cook lunch and scrub more boards and smoked another twenty pipe-fulls. Good-for-nothing villagers now rumored about the slenderness of his body coming from the oriental mystic grass the pharmacist now sold by the truckload.

 

Finally, when the day of the ball came, Zayn locked himself into his dusty little chamber and kicked the thick wooden door so hard he shed sparkling rainbows of tears and all the birdies outside his window fainted with the pain felt for him.

Harry and Niall chose their best carriage, the blue-red one, to ride with, while Louise reminded them again and again of the special techniques she had taught them to woo the prince.

“Wiggle your tongue across the slit, darling boys! And don’t forget to swallow!” She yelled in their excited, tearful goodbye.

 

Once her sons were out of the house, Louise headed over to farmer Paul’s, discarding her pantaloons half-way across the garden, whistling happily in the prospect of a decadent, golden life.

 

Zayn went downstairs to sit down at his usual spot in the kitchen, with a duckling rubbing soothingly against his leg. “S’okay mate.”

He sighed, “I just really wanted to see them dimples, man.” The duckling quacked while three little kittens snuggled up to him, rubbing their furry heads against the duck. “And yeah, I heard that they have a pretty sick palace up there. Gold and all.”

He punched his thigh, making the young birds flap all over the place. “Fuck it, I just need to get rid of my virginity already!” He then sighed and shook his head. “I’m just too good looking, no one will fuck me.”

 

“Not necessarily.”

 

Zayn’s head snapped up. The kitchen was tinted in a warm, yellow light, pink and purple sparkles buzzing in the air, and right at the door to the barn stood a full grown man in blindingly white clothes. A pair of delicate, butterfly-like wings were folded together against his back, and the expression he was wearing could only be described as bored out of his fucking wits.

 

“Hello young Zayn Malik, ever since your father, God rest his soul, passed away, I’ve been assigned to you as your fairy godfather. Now I am here to fulfill your wishes, which are…” he produced a long list, squinting his eyes in the effort of finding Zayn’s name. “One: owning bling and a new shirt, and two: losing your virginity to someone who isn’t the village’s moron.” 

“How did you know that?” Zayn asked, baffled and blinded. “Who are you?”

“God, these infomercials at the beginning never work. Hello, I’m Simon. I’m here to help you get your beautiful arse laid.”

 

Zayn’s plump, pink mouth fell open. He had heard of them via rumors, of course, but never had he actually thought that he himself had a fairy. Not with all the misfortune that had occurred during his wretched life. 

 

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” Simon the fairy godfather waved a wand with a big, blinking star on top through the air. “I’m going to make this simple. This is your outfit for that bloody mating-ball.”

Zayn gasped as his body was left with nothing but a rag of cloth covering his crotch that left little to the imagination. “And I’ll have a carriage send you straight through, yeah?”

“What carriage?”

“The one your evil brothers left behind.”

“What? All you did was make my clothes disappear! No pumpkin? No mice?”

“People have expectations these days.” Simon pressed out through gritted teeth. Then, with another swing of his wand, their second, much less posh carriage was standing on the road, and Zayn, dressed in his cloth, was seated in it. “Have fun, love.”

 

And off he went, with a shower of fairy dust trailing behind.

 

Even with the magical enhancement, they got stuck in traffic. It took Zayn a good three and a half hours to even see the vague outlines of the pink castle. His heart was beating in his beautiful chest like a playful, jumping rabbit as the lights became clearer and the soft play of fifty-cent became clearer with every meter they put behind them.

 

Zayn felt slightly uncomfortable about his clothing situation, but as everyone fell silent in utter awe when he got off his carriage, he knew that Simon had done him good. Young maidens broke out into tears when they saw his perfectly sculpted chest, the guards drooled on their uniforms and across the grand hall, the wise king stroking his beard poked his son with his free hand.

 

Zayn was still admiring the velvety silk that covered the seats and the golden door knobs, when a hand was placed on his bare shoulder tentatively. He turned around, hair swooning with the motion, and looked into a pair of common hazel eyes that had a certain tightness to them. “Yeah, what is it?”

“I was wondering, if, uh. If you would allow me your next dance?”

“Nah, man. I can’t dance.”

“Oh. Oh, right.”

 

It took Zayn a full five seconds to recognize the disappearing dimples and then suddenly his high cheek bones were flushed a gorgeous shade of red. The prince, the heir to the throne had just asked him to dance, and he had declined rudely. “Uh, sorry. Like, I really can’t dance.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I’m Liam. What’s your name?”

 

Zayn never got to say his name, because someone had bumped into them with a ferociousness that only Harry could behold. Zayn felt his lashes flutter, before Liam, his majesty the royal prince was already toppling over him in his favorite uniform, eyes wide, looking clearly embarrassed.

“God, sorry your highness.” Harry drawled. “Let me make it up to you?”

 

But Liam was staring at Zayn and he was staring right back. The piece of cloth had magically stayed and covered his crotch, Simon really was doing him good, that fairy bastard. “Uh. I’m so sorry. May I accompany you to the royal restrooms?” Liam had put on his good manners and helped Zayn to his feet. “Sure. Thanks, I guess?”

 

They made it all the way to the royal cupboard, people parting and staring mesmerized at Zayn’s collar bones, before Liam was already slamming him up against the golden inside of the cupboard and royal brooms toppled over with the impact. Zayn could almost see Simon’s mean face in front of his eyes while Liam tugged off his loin-cloth and undid the immaculate fly of his uniform trousers.

 

Rumors in all villages after the annual ball spoke of moans and groans so sinful anyone who stood too near dropped dead right the second, the devil himself catching their burned souls.

 

The truth of the tale was, that Zayn got his first, his second, third and fourth time before the magic wore off and his old clothes reappeared and the carriage outside rattled, waiting. His inner thighs were still covered in royal come but the sudden feeling of clothes made him jump right back and out of the golden cupboard in shock. Liam was having troubles closing his zipper, stumbling over his own feet: “Wait, what’s your name? Wait!”

 

But for what reasons there were, Zayn didn’t wait, but rushed through the dancing crowd, dropping his loin-cloth on the way out. Within a few seconds, he was in the carriage again and took off into yet another sparkly night.

 

 

The next few weeks, Zayn stayed in his chamber, letting himself mourn the undying love that was budding in his beautiful chest. Never had he felt anything so good before, so real, so hard and hot and big up his –

Well, the ball had been truly magical. Everything he had ever wanted had become true, because the shirt that had reappeared on him was in fact a new one from an expensive French brand, imported regardless of the hundred-years-war going on, and he had a pile of bling on his pillow.

 

Still, not being with the prince, not having his dick up his ar – uh. Well, not being near Liam hurt Zayn physically. So naturally it took him a little longer to hear of the new law that had randomly been passed in their little kingdom.

The King had commanded all young men to undress, step forward and try on the piece of loin-cloth his son couldn’t let go of anymore. The golden, decked-out carriage went to and fro every single day, young men of all ages, and even a few flat chested maidens, tried their best, but none of them could pull off the loin cloth.

 

Rumors said that prince Liam was desperate and constantly sporting a hard-on.

 

The day came when Zayn’s house was up for inspection. Louise made the little animals clean and clean until one of the birdies dropped dead. Then she groomed and waxed her two sons with the finest bee-wax that could be found at the pharmacy.

They all posed in front of the gate, awaiting the royal carriage.

 

Zayn hid behind the barn and smoked his pipe nervously.

 

They arrived, the tiny little man making his announcement, Louise pressing Liam’s hands against her shriveled bosom and Harry dropping his last undergarment while Niall quickly ate another pork-chop leftover from dinner to buff himself up.

Two guards, chiseled and stern, stepped forward, holding a silver tray, embedded with diamonds of all sizes, on which lay Zayn’s loin-cloth.

 

“I’ll blow your mind, sexy.” Harry drawled. “You know what a tight arse I have?” The guards held the cloth closer to his groin while Liam stepped back and inspected. After a few breathless moments, he shook his head, dejected.

“I heard your highness has a really good cook?” Niall asked, interested, while posing and letting Liam judge. “No, he died of food poison” Liam sighed and shook his head again.

“Any more attractive young male members of the family?” the little man asked.

“No!” Harry snapped, “of course not, fuck off.”

“Yes, your majesty, I think you’d better do that. We have trained rabbits and birds.” Louise said coldly.

 

“Wait!”

 

Zayn jumped out from behind the barn, dropping his pipe. Liam’s eyes widened as he recognized him, and in a flurry Zayn took off his new shirt and trousers. The guards stepped forward, held the loin-cloth close, and… “Yes! It’s him! Him!” 

 

Zayn was swept off his feet and thrust into the golden carriage, that was even more golden from the inside. He probably had to get used to all the bling now. In a breath the prince, his royal highness, was on top of him, and they engaged in unspeakable relations all the way to the castle, disguised by the rocking of the carriage.

 

They got married, Zayn didn’t get pregnant. They adopted.

 

And lived happily… ever after.


End file.
